


In My Secret Life

by poisontaster



Series: Heart 'Verse [40]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Future Fic, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Schmoop, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-04
Updated: 2006-06-04
Packaged: 2018-05-19 22:58:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5983501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We do what we do and we shut up about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In My Secret Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [exsequar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exsequar/gifts).



> exsequar wanted angsty boys-in-love, I had schmoop on the brain. Beta by mona1347.

By the time Dean limps his way back into their apartment, Sam is prone on the couch, blindfold and one arm thrown over his eyes. Sam hears the double tap of foot-and-cane and then the slur of Dean's bad leg. "Don't," he whispers, just before Dean reaches the lamp.

Dean's breath catches. Just a little, but enough that Sam can hear it in his super-sensitized state. Then Dean changes direction, thump-dragging his way over to the couch by touch alone. It isn't until Dean's hand ghosts fumblingly over his face and hair that Sam realizes how dark the living room must be. He reaches up and bracelets Dean's wrist, guiding him down, sliding in to make room on the worn velour surface. Tired and old springs creak as Dean settles.

"Rose?" They've been through this before; too many times, over the years. Dean knows how to pitch his voice just below hangover level but louder than dog whistle. He touches Sam's face lightly, fingertips threading through Sam's hair. It feels good, even over the ugly throb of his temples. Dean knows this part too.

"Yeah." Sam sighs. It never ceases to amaze him, how paths cross and recross; how many of the lives that they touched in the course of their travels have come back to touch theirs. Rose had been an infant, fat, cheerful and ancient-eyed long before she'd been reborn into their life as a mouthy, pierced royal pain in his ass. "She's… God, she's just so damn powerful. I don't even know that I'm _teaching_ her anything."

"I'd be happy if you could just teach her to wear a skirt that covers everything," Dean growls, making Sam chuckle softly.

"When did you turn into such a prude?" Sam's hand wanders its way up Dean's spine.

"She's only a couple years older than Chelsea! She's a fucking kid, man."

"Rose is _sixteen_ ; Chelsea's _ten_. That's more than a couple years." Sam points out. "And you were banging our neighbor's daughter—in my bed, as I recollect—when you were sixteen."

"Yeah." Sam can hear the grin. "Karen Steakley. Man." Dean coughs and the pressure-rub of his fingers increases momentarily in absent guilt. It's Sam's turn to smile. "Anyway, that was _different_."

"Why, cause you were a _boy_? I'm so telling Hari and Laurie you said that."

"Aw man... Don't do that. I mean, it's just a _fact_. Boys aren't _like_ girls. And I never went around with...with my bits hanging out even when I was sixteen."

"Your bits? Uh, I seem to distinctly remember some very pretty girls of all ages digging on those tight fucking jeans you always wore..."

"Those were _practical_. I couldn't go around tripping over my trendy ass jeans the way _you_ always did."

"Uh huh. Dean, we couldn't _afford_ 'trendy ass jeans'. It's not my fault that the only jeans long enough to fit my legs never fit anywhere else."

"Man, shut the hell up. I'll smack you in the head, migraine or no." Dean strokes his fingers gently through Sam's hair, belying the threat

"Dean." Sam flattens his hand between Dean's shoulder blades.

"Yeah?" Dean sounds suspicious. As well he might. He hates Sam's migraines because they have a tendency to 'sissify' Sam, in Dean nomenclature. But the truth is that its times like this that Sam is most grateful for Dean. When the daily lies and the secrecy, the hard looks and attempted beat downs in a hundred dusty small towns seem to be a small price for what he gets in return.

Because as difficult as Rose has been for _him_ to try and train, dealing with Sam's burgeoning powers without any of his own had to have been a hundred times worse for Dean. The nightmares and migraines and random poltergeist outbursts… And yet Dean's always just taken care of him, in the same matter-of-fact prosaic way he does everything else.

_We do what we do and we shut up about it._

Sam sighs and lets go of his half-formed sentiment. He sweeps the blindfold off his eyes and squints a moment against even the charcoal darkness before he draws Dean down to his mouth. Dean tastes like beer and the sweet-sour apple candies Mike always carries. The hand that was caressing his hair cups Sam's face and neck, tilting his head up a little for Dean's tongue to delve deeper.

Sam fumbles with the buttons on Dean's shirt, pushing the cloth aside, shoving up the T-shirt underneath to touch Dean's naked skin, still hard with muscle and warm. Dean makes a noise, laughing and shocked as Sam's fingers run over the places where he's ticklish and pulls back to shuck his shirts off over his head. "You sure?" he whispers, bending again when he was done to unbuckle Sam's jeans and bite down sharply on Sam's bottom lip.

"Yeah," Sam says, toeing off his shoes, his socks, working on Dean's belt. "I just want you."

"Well, all right," Dean says, in what he thinks is Sam's voice and Sam just laughs at him.

The couch isn't really wide enough for this; it's awkward jostles of elbows and knees and cushions and clothes getting shoved helter-skelter before they're naked and Dean is pressing into him. "Tomorrow," Sam grits, arching his back and breathing hard, "we are going to get a bottle of lube to put in the side table… _shit_ …drawer, o-okay?"

"Well, if someone wasn't too impatient to wait-- _dammit, Sammy, if I move any slower I'll be standing still--_ I could have…gotten the bottle in the bedroom." Dean pauses. "Still can."

"No." It burns, but Sam's ass is relaxing around the invasion and he doesn't want to let Dean go even that long. "No, it's okay…just…come on. Just…" His breath catches as Dean shifts and thrusts, sliding the rest of the way in a single stroke. "Oh."

Dean's sweating; Sam thumbs it out of his eyes, cranes up to drag his lips across Dean's. The angle inside him shifts and Dean's cock slurs over Sam's prostate. "Oh," he says again, differently, and his knees tighten on Dean's sides. "Yes. Yes, Dean, please…"

Dean grips Sam's thigh, pushing it back and up further, opening Sam wider and suddenly Sam can't breathe right, the pleasure rippling out and through him like a long sustained orgasm.

It hasn't been easy, having his brother as his lover and his love for more than two-thirds of his life now. There is always the fear—terror—that they will be found out, that someone will know, or tell; all the more vicious now they have so much to lose. Their home, the school, their cock-eyed, mismatched family, Dean's daughter, Chelsea. It hasn't been easy having _Dean_ , who is…stubborn, taciturn, willful and mistrustful to an alarming degree.

"Sam," Dean moans softly, going fast and hard now. Sam feels the hot clench starting in his balls and lower belly, even sweeter than the pleasure of Dean's movement inside him, Dean's stroking hand on his cock. Neither one of them is going to last long. "Sammy…"

But even when he's been miserable, even when he left Dean or Dean left him, or one of them almost got their damn fool self killed, there hasn't been a moment it hasn't been worth it. There's never been a time he couldn't close his eyes and conjure…this: the two of them, intertwined and interconnected. Complete.

They do what they do and they shut up about it. Because some secrets are worth keeping.


End file.
